from down here

Rock bottom isn't a place I've seen, at least not yet. But I felt a little closer to it yesterday. Most of it I spent alone, wandering Boston eating everything I could think of and vomiting it back up before the magic 1 hour mark passes. I don't know if this is true, but in my head at least, the stomach doesn't start doing anything with all that food until about 1 hour after it's eaten.

Instead of class (which I don't really like to attend anymore) I went to go smoke with my friend. He and I have been friends only for a few weeks, but he's a really nice guy. Yesterday I had to finally tell him we can't sleep together anymore. It hurts me too much to sleep with someone who doesn't care about me and who I don't care about in that way either. We had that conversation and things were fine afterwards, at least until his roommates came home. They're all acting majors, and they're too much personality for me to keep up with. I freaked, and left in a hurry, I'm sure they noticed.

Thats when the wandering an eating started. And so much purging. My stomach muscles are actually sore from all of it. By the end of my day I was exhausted and sad. I ended up at a bar with my friends, and only 3 beers later I was vomiting again, not by choice though.

My current idea is that I was so low on electrolytes that my body just couldn't do it anymore. It was so embarrassing to lose control that way. And it almost scares me enough to call for help.

opinion of me

His fingers never stopped moving, making little circles on my wrist, my stomach, my thigh. When his hands fell onto the healing cuts on my legs, I shifted the blanket we were under so he couldn't see. I don't know what I'll say if anyone ever sees. The way the lines are parallel and so numerous, it's obviously no accidental scratch, or an unlucky fall. I'm scared of my cuts for exactly the reason I made them- all the hurt and self-hate are visible on my body now.

Nothing he said in conversation was very impressive. But his height is. 15 inches taller than me, it's fun to tilt my head back that far to kiss him, fun to see the way his hands are so much bigger than mine. And I find it delightful that his hands know what to do, know the spots to look for, just where I want to be touched or held. Do some boys just know this inherently, or is it something past girlfriends have taught them? If it's the latter, I'd like to say thank you to each of them.

In a few minutes I should start getting ready to go to work. I spend all my time there trying to impress the managers and the other floor staff. The other day I paid for a beer I ordered by mistake instead of having a manager cancel it. I don't have money to throw away like that, but I couldn't face the embarrassment. I want them to think I'm smart and capable, interesting and worth having around. So far I only feel like the ugly new girl who can't do anything right, too dumb to tie her shoes.

unwell

What I wanted to say to him went something like this:

"I want you to treat me like I'm worth something to you. Give a damn about me and the things I love. Don't pressure me into things you know will hurt me; if I say I don't like something, don't do it again. I'm hurting right now, and you make things worse. But for some reason I can't stop wanting to be near you."

All I really said in the end was "I'm okay. Really, I'm okay." Even though I was trying not to cry and he could tell. He must have asked 100 times, and I never answered. I just don't want to be needy, and I can't say what I want to say without being dramatic and dumb. Because it's my fault, all of this. I was the one who kept showing up when he called, I'm the one making a choice to keep seeing him.

On Wednesday I cut two-inch lines into my thigh, one after another. I also added some to my collar bone, I always need to cut and scratch myself there. It feels so incredible to watch little drops of blood beed up and roll down my paper-white skin. It's like grotesque rain drops on a window pane, mesmerizing.

When he saw the cuts he gave me a look. I think he understands that they aren't from any kind of accident. When he asked I said I didn't want to talk about it. I wonder how many lines I can make before someone confronts me.

little thoughts

I'm having one of those moments. Right now the world looks like an uphill journey towards nothing. My dream was to be a big-shot reporter. But I can't report anything. I'm not good enough, I can't work hard enough, I don't have the necessary qualities. I've never written or created anything worth a second look. Whatever made me think I could amount to anything was a lunatic idea.

The depression is back. It's back for sure, stronger than I remember. But it's always stronger than I remember.

I wish I could stop blaming myself for all the ways I'm failing to fix my own problems. I wish I could turn off logic and perfectionism for a little while.

Today and yesterday I ate incredible quantities of food. I didn't purge any of it. I'm going to look so fat and hideous in my misery. I make a decent melodramatic at least. (that last bit was meant to be a joke, I hope I got some laughs.)

reduce me

I sobbed so hard and so loud that my roommate heard me from the other room. She hugged me and said it's okay. But it isn't okay. Everything fucking hurts. I just want to fucking break things, I want to punch things. I want to get in a fight with someone and win. I want to cause as much pain as I'm feeling right now. Maybe this is how people feel just before they do the stupidest thing they've ever done.

I'm binging terribly this week. Which also means I'm spending far too much time with my fingers in the back of my mouth, my eyes red and crying, my stomach aching. I hate this so much, it's gotta be some sort of punishment for something I did in a past life. Or a punishment for something I did in this life, Lord knows I've done enough terrible things.

bruised

The thing I never understood about self-harming was how a person could actually commit and make themselves hurt so much. It's the numbness, I know that now. When everything hurts so bad that you can't even feel anything anymore. Then you just need a shock to the system, something to force the tears out.

Rationally, inevitably, the sun will rise tomorrow and trees will grow taller, rivers will keep running. The world is so much bigger than me and my little crisis. The world is a big, beautiful place and I am just a small part of it. I am just another beautiful little piece of the universe. And when all the sadness is gone, I'll still be here, and the world will keep on spinning. I can go out and do things bigger than myself, this is all going to end okay.

But right now I'm hurting. When the train is coming, I have to keep my eyes averted so I don't think too much about what it would feel like to jump onto the tracks. And when I'm using a sharp kitchen knife, I try not to consider the temptation of an easy slice down my forearm.

cheers

Ladies, in honor of my new fake ID (Illinois in case you were wondering) I'd like to propose a toast. This toast is for all of us, the crazy ones, obsessed with food. This is for knowing how much you weighed this morning, and just before you last went to the bathroom, and just after, too, and to looking forward each morning to seeing the little number drop lower and lower. Here's to freakish knowledge of calories and nutritional content. Here's to purging with the shower running, having cut up knuckles and short finger nails. I honestly don't know how I could have survived the last few years without the support I get from this blog, so thank you- from the bottom of my heart.  Cheers to us, the girls who drink wine out of measuring cups.